


Sinners & Saints

by williewildkat



Category: Alcatraz (TV)
Genre: 63s, Angst, Character Death, Closure, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Female Protagonist, Friends to Lovers, Injury, Male Protagonist, Mystery, Non-Graphic Violence, Physical Abuse, Protectiveness, Serious Injuries, Sexual Abuse, Shower Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 07:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williewildkat/pseuds/williewildkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A different take on Alcatraz.....</p><p>"I need your help"- Was all she would answer Jack. Alex offers Jack a second chance in exchange for learning the truth about Alcatraz. Can they trust each other? What will be uncovered? How is Alex connected to the 63's? And can they find out the truth behind it all?   And can they keep ahead of a certain FBI Agent and his police lackey?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sinners & Saints

**Author's Note:**

> There are not enough Alcatraz stories out there! Was anyone else perturbed about the show's cancellation?! Enough babbling and enjoy!

_302 men disappeared in 1963 from the Rock never to be seen or heard from again…..Until now…_

The rain picked up in intensity as Jack Sylvane hunched over the tombstone but the man didn't seem to notice or really care. The pelting droplets soaked his jacket shirt and pants as hovered silently over Sonya's final resting place. The air hanging in a possessive chill that the inmate chose to shout out. What did it matter anyway? His fingers lightly graced the smooth granite top as his eyes read the tender but brief inscription carved on the front:

_Loving Wife and Mother_

_Sonya Sylvane_

_1925-2008_

The anger eroded away as reality quietly settled into the void the burning emotion created. His brother stood by, possessed by shock at the sudden appearance of his incarcerated brother; the brother who had not aged a single day and supposedly had died at San Quentin. He had been told the prison had been shut down due to the climbing financial burden along with the fact it had been allowed to deteriorate over the decades. Sure he could've written his brother but Alan had refused to and instead kept his focus on Sonya and their son until that day he received the Western Union telegram. He never mentioned Jack in the years Alan Jr. grew up as it would only rehash painful memories of a time gone by. But now standing here, seeing the pain crowding his older brother's eyes from the knife of betrayal that was buried in the center of his heart. A knife that he had driven in himself.

Jack had been enraged bordering on murderous when he had laid eyes on his aged sibling feeling as though he had been chained to the street then repeatedly crushed by a bus for what happened. His wife had arrived at what would've been the final time and wanted a divorce only to turn around and remarry his own brother! His flesh and blood! Jack had wanted a family and even shared names with Sonya but that dream had been shattered like a mirror. He was resentful of this but held no malice towards his nephew as he had lived in perfect ignorance of his origins.

Alan stayed frozen as he listened to his brother's heartfelt allowed for words. He could see the hatred melting away as the words sputtered past his lips. The rain masked any tears that spilled down his face.

"It's okay, Sonya; whatcha did. In my heart there's only love for you."

The burden that clouded his mind and heart finally eroded as the words he wanted to say finally found liberation.

"Don't move Jack," Detective Madsen emerged from behind a tree with her gun drawn and trained on the convict. She watched his head crane towards her with eyes blank and dull.

"Do I know you?"

"No you don't," she answered shortly. "Now gimme your gun and I won't blow your head off. Just drop the gun Jack. No one else needs to get hurt."

"I killed people," Jack choked. "I killed Tiller out of hate."

"What about Flynn? Why did you kill him?"

"I was doing what they told me to do."

"Who Jack? Who told you to do it? Where have you been?" Madsen wanted answers but Sylvane wasn't talking. The sirens started to grow louder in the distance as the police closed in. Sylvane looked down at his gun, twisting his wrist as if he was weighing his options. Madsen tensed as she prepared for the worst but Sylvane didn't act.

The SWAT team positioned themselves behind several impressive tombstones, each armed and ready to fire. The semi solid pelts of rain pinged off the assault rifles and helmets.

"You should shoot me," Sylvane suggested and started to lift his arm.

At that instant all Hell broke loose.

The canisters rolled in the mud and grass, spewing a thick cloud around the group. Madsen coughed and choked on the gas as the SWAT team struggled to breathe. Confusion gripped the air as screams and shouts competed with the thunder overhead.

_"Hold your fire!"_

_"We're under attack!"_

_"We need backup!"_

A fourth canister stumbled along between the detective's feet eliciting a thicker darker cloud. One by one the SWAT team members dropped to the ground, gasping for each breath. Madsen tried covering her nose with her shirt but the damp cotton proved futile against the powerful gas. Sylvane was on his hands and knees, rubbing his eyes as they burned like brimstone. His lungs felt as if acid had been forced down his throat and esophagus and settled in his lower respiratory tract.

"On your feet!"

The voice barked. He couldn't make out the commanding tone to be male or female as it was disguised. A pair of strong hands reached out from the abyss, forcing Jack on his feet and dragging him away. The convict wasn't sure if he should be grateful or worried as he heard the sound of a car door open followed by the dry warmth of the interior.

"Get in! Come on we don't have all day!" The voice barked with the ferocity of a drill sergeant's tone.

"I-I can't see."

He hacked hard and doubled over in pain as the fresh air saturated his body. His ears picked up the rustling a few feet away as the engine roared to life. The tires screamed as the driver raced off leaving the police behind. The car reverberated along the road as it raced from the cemetery and towards the Golden Gate Bridge.

"They're not dead you know."

Jack rubbed his eyes and strained through a thin film of tears to see the blurry outline to his left. His rescuer was a woman!

"They'll be fine in a few hours but they're all gonna have a mother of a migraine when they wake up."

He heard amusement lacing her voice.

"Nothing that a good dose of morphine wouldn't take care of."

Jack felt a bottle being pushed against his torso.

"Here take this. It'll clear up the effects of the spray. Your blindness and breathing problems will clear up within an hour."

"W-Why are you doing this?"

"I need your help," the woman answered plainly. She kept her eyes on the road as San Francisco Bay passed beneath them. The rain drummed heavily against the roof of the Avenger.

His help? What would anyone want his help for? He was a murderer! He had killed three men! Surely this woman knew he was a wanted fugitive?

"And yes I know what you did Jack. I know about the cops and Flynn along with Tiller. So right now I need you to spray that in your eyes and face to neutralize the effects."

Her voice turned stern reminding Jack of his mother when he didn't want to wash his face or go to bed when he was a boy. He found himself obediently doing what she instructed. Jack sensed the fine mist starting to go to work as his skin didn't have the sensation it was about melt off his face or the feeling his lungs were about to shrivel up. He relaxed against the seat allowing his lungs to slowly expand.  
**************************************************************************************************************************************  
The Avenger dipped down a back alley then hooked a sharp right jolting Jack awake. He couldn't see anything as everything was bathed in darkness. The surroundings were unfamiliar but the sound of clanking metal wrapping around his wrists wasn't. Shiny bracelets of steel felt strangely at home bouncing across his skin.

"Don't think about doing anything stupid." Her voice left no room for Jack to protest.

"D-Do you work for them?"

"I work for no one," she growled. "And I certainly do not work for them."

Something told Sylvane not to argue with her as she exited the car then hurried around and flung the passenger side open. Jack felt the same grip he had in the cemetery guiding him out and through some type of building. He knew it was best to stay quiet and not attempt anything stupid. Slowly his vision improved and he could see the features that went with the voice. She was about 5'6" dressed in some kind of cargo pants with a black long sleeved shirt that appeared to fit in all the right spots. Her dark chocolate hair was tight in a ponytail while leather gloves accented her attire. Her jaw was tense and eyes alert as they darted between him and door of the elevator. Despite the close proximity they shared, Jack noticed her posture was calm and confident.

"Home sweet home," she lifted the gates up. "Welcome to the safe house."


End file.
